just eyes re-admitting the outside world.
In the briefest of moments there's an open space
before the mind unfurls a tendril to wrap around a touchstone...
what day is it? what are my obligations?
Rolling to the edge
feet reach for the floor,
shuffle back into the collective dream.
Follow the routine
each step in order
moving toward the outside world.
Collision with the shared air
the friction of conflicting realities
over-heating the shrinking space
losing the edges of separation
infected by otherness.
Retreating into a thin and brittle shell
easily abraded by curious scrapings
Then, reminded by the tension
to resign the polar position
Stepping up to ride the seesaw of outside inside
slipping and sliding on the slick wet wood
eventually finding a spot in the center.
flexed for minute tunings
balancing out the motion
until the day winds down
and I can slide back
off the ride.
Holdinga dynamic stillness